


The body says what words cannot

by la_esperance



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 03:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_esperance/pseuds/la_esperance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just when you want to speak, you know you ought not to. Too bad for you. Too bad for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The body says what words cannot

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote attributed to Martha Graham. I still have a lot of Reichenbach feelings. I blame it on exams. Those tend to bring out my emo-ness. ^_^

_I went down to St. James’ Infirmary_

_Saw my baby there_

_She was stretched out on a long white table_

_So cold, so sweet, so sweet, so fair…_

-Hugh Laurie, “St. James’ Infirmary”

 

 

 

I smell it, harsh and dizzying, the antiseptic smell of the morgue as soon as I am wheeled in. It hits me like a solid wall, invading my nostrils. An itch develops and it takes most of my will not to scratch it or sneeze. I think that it shouldn’t feel so strange, not when I have spent a lot of time in morgues. But then again, maybe it should. After all, it’s the first time I’ve been here as a corpse.

I track the fluorescent lights above as they wheeled me to the center of the room. I try to keep my face immobile as the orderly (male, 52 years old, has snoring problems and halitosis) looms over me. He calls the other people to him and they transfer me to the examination table. They leave just as Molly arrives and I can see she is trying so very hard to keep her tears in check.

Suddenly there is a commotion at the door. Again, I have to stop myself from looking. Voices are raised and one among them is very familiar. Molly looks over her shoulder and calls out John’s name. She leaves, I presume, to sort it out before it went too far. I hear mutterings and whispers. Someone sighs and two sets of footsteps make it to me.

Molly is the first to arrive and she stands next to my knees. She looks at John and motions him to step closer. I count. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six…_ He stops beside him just as I reach _twenty-five_. He is looking away, at some object at the other side of the room. He closes his eyes and clears his throat.

“Please.” He says and his voice cracks. “I’d like a few moments with him. Alone.”

Molly nods and leaves. When the door clicks, John lets out a breath as if he had been holding it in for so long. This curiously stirs something within me. I didn’t know what it is. I didn’t think I wanted to know what it is. It feels like a ten ton rock is slowly being lowered on my chest, restricting my already shallow breathing (I had to keep up the pretense of a corpse, after all). My heart aches and I want to cry out for something to assuage it.

I want John to comfort me, assure me that I had done the right thing and promise me that he would never leave me.

I want— _need—_ his forgiveness for the hurt I had obviously caused him.

The inside of my mouth itches. I want to tell him so many things. Tell him that I wasn’t dead but that I had to do this to save him.

As my thoughts ramble, my expression remains still, my eyes unblinking even as John bows his head and covers his eyes with his hand. He bites his lip but that doesn’t stop a strangled sound from escaping. It sounds like a cry that has traveled deep within him only to be stopped by his determination not to break down. It quadruples the ache in my chest. I have to steel myself from sitting up and taking the only friend I have into a tight embrace.

Tears trickle down his cheeks and fall onto my hand. As if it were a reflex, my eyes well up and I take the risk of breathing in deeply to control my body. I couldn’t let him see anything that would give away this unforgiving farce. He had to keep believing for his sake that I was dead.

He takes a slow ragged breath and lowers his hand. John’s eyes are slightly bloodshot, a testament to our sleepless nights, and his waterline has taken a red hue from the tears that are still falling down. _John, oh dear John. How can I ask for your forgiveness now that I have shattered your heart beyond repair?_

John takes my hand in his, intertwining our fingers. I freeze. What if he feels my pulse? But I quickly remind myself that the little drink I took would have made that virtually impossible and I assume that John’s raging emotions will, no doubt, cloud his medical judgment.

“Sherlock.” He says and then immediately his resolve crumbles. He tries to rein himself in but fails. It takes several deep breaths to give him a semblance of control.

“God, Sherlock. Why did you have to do this? Why?” He croaks in between sniffs. “Did Moriarty put you up to this?”

Yes! I want to shout at him. He put me up to and if I didn’t follow you would be dead. You and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. All of you would be dead if I didn’t jump! The words rattle in my head but my body does not give away the turmoil rushing through me.

“I could have helped you, you know. That’s what friends do, right? Help one another?” He sniffs and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “You didn’t have to do this alone. I thought we were partners.”

We _are_ , I think. We are more than that, John. We are halves of one whole. We complement each other and it pains me more than it shows that I have to do this.

Then John does something I never imagined he would. He lifts my hand and presses my palm against his cheek. The warmth startles me and I am tempted to press it closer. But I didn’t need to do anything. John presses it tightly, as if it is a safety net.

“Shit, Sherlock. I still have so many things to say to you.” He closes his eyes. “I never once doubted you. Even when Moriarty was so convincing, no doubt entered my mind. I know you and no matter what everyone else says, I don’t give a damn. I knew you and you were nothing like what they painted you to be.”

He opened his eyes and laid my hand down. “Lestrade once told me that you were a great man and if we were lucky, you’d also be a good one.” He sighed and the saddest smile I have ever seen tugged one corner of his lips. “You are a good man, Sherlock. You may not have realized it. You may even have denied it but you are. You are, Sherlock.”

_John, oh John. Please don’t do this. Don’t bare your heart and soul to me when I cannot do anything. Don’t make this harder for me._

“You…”John falters and looks away. “You are _my_ good man. You saved me from my self-pity. You brought me back to life, showed me that being invalided was not the end for me. It’s not fair that you should leave so suddenly. It’s not fair. Sherlock, I…”

He swallows a lump. “It’s not fair to lose someone you love.” A soft unexpected cry escapes from him. John covers his mouth and the way his cheeks twitch tells me that he is clenching his jaw very hard. “God, Sherlock. I should have told you this a long time ago, when you could still hear me, when I could still get some kind of reaction from you. It’s stupid and foolish to say this to a corpse but still…I still feel the need to say this. I think I will regret it forever if I don’t.” He lets out a forced chuckle and rakes his hair with his fingers.

_What is it, John? Tell me. I want to hear it. I think I will go mad if you don’t speak. I need something to keep me going. What I will do after this will be the hardest task I will ever do and I need encouragement, any kind of encouragement._

He leans over me and presses a kiss to the bridge of my nose. “I love you. I love you so much, dammit. Come back. Come back for me, please. Do that for me. I don’t know what to do now.”

And just like that, my world shatters. Tears are rolling down John’s cheeks again as he presses it against mine. I am glad for it. It masks my own tears that flow despite myself. John’s ragged breaths sound loudly in my ear. How tempting it was to raise my arms and console him.

_I am so sorry, John. I am so sorry. But I promise you that I will come back. I will. It maybe months, even years but I will come back for you. I just need to finish this work. Wait for me John. Wait for me._

He starts kissing me then. First my forehead, then each of my eyes, the tips of my nose, my cupid’s bow and then finally, after much lingering, he kisses my lips. Fairytale writers must have known what they were going about when they spoke of true love’s kiss waking up the sleeping princess. This kiss sends a jolt through my nerves as they gather information at lightning speed.

John’s lips are slightly chaffed but I can taste a hint of the lip balm he used. There is a slightly salty taste to them too from the tears that have rolled there. His breath was a little sour, what some people called morning breath but I didn’t care. I reveled in it, straining to contain my reaction. It was a chaste kiss, all in all, but it was more than enough for me.  

We stay like this for a long time: John’s chest against mine, his arms wrapped around my shoulder and head, cradling me close to him. His cheek is still pressed against mine and his tears still haven’t stopped. It is only when the door clicks open that he lays me back down on the table so gently. He brushes a lock from my forehead, letting his thumb rest a little longer on my temple.

“John.” Molly’s plaintive voice rings softly in the room. “Sherlock’s family is here.”

John nods, “I’ll go now.”

He looks at me one last time. Several things flit across his eyes and I think that I will spend all of my time in the morgue remembering them, memorizing them, loving them. He gives my hand a final squeeze as if to encourage me before he leaves. When the door closes and I am alone, I let out a breath I had been holding in for so long and let my tears flow once again.

_I love you too_.

 

 


End file.
